Questionable Parenting Decisions

We've all made them, right? Help a girl out here. Lie if you have to.

A week or so ago I let Bear, who is 12, see a PG-13 movie at a sleepover. "Knowing" with Nicolas Cage, to be exact. I haven't let her see many PG-13s yet, so I did the conscientious mom thing and checked online to see why it had the PG-13 rating. It looked suspenseful, with some action movie style violence, and some language (nothing she doesn't hear around here when Mom cuts herself chopping onions). I was mostly concerned about sexual content, and I didn't see any mention of that, so I gave permission.

IT SCARED THE EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF HER.

Oops.

She later confessed that she watched half of the movie with her hands over her eyes, and the other half with her hands over her ears when it got loud. Despite this, she swore up and down when she got home that she loved it and that it was "the best movie ever." She described the plot in excruciating detail over and over again, popping out from unpacking her overnight bag to say, "Oh, yeah, there was also this part where...." I took this to mean that, though she'd been scared, it was more of the Pleasantly Freaked Out variety than the Emotionally Scarred for Life variety.

Silly me.

Fast forward to a few nights past, when the plot points and images had had awhile to marinate in her overactive imagination. I woke from a dead sleep with an awareness that something was off. Groggy from sleep, I wasn't able to place a finger on what was wrong until I started to sit up and heard a small voice behind me say,

"Hi, Mom. I thought I'd just lay with you guys for awhile."

I turned to see Bear lying on top of the covers between Daddy Shortbread and me. She had a Webkinz (well-known protectors against evil?) clutched to her chest. I walked her back to her room, and she seemed content to climb into her own bed with a kiss on the cheek and assurances that everything was fine. I'd been back in bed for about twenty seconds when I heard her footfalls again in the hall.

She thought she'd sleep on the couch. Was that OK? Yes. Go to sleep.

(two minutes later): No, the couch was even freakier. She was going to get a drink. Fine. You don't need to tell me. Just go to bed.

(two minutes later): Of course, it was still pretty dark in her room, and there was a strong possibility that there were floating faces in her closet. No faces in the closet, Bear. Here, I'll get you a nightlight.

(45 seconds later): Did I know that sometimes nightlights make weird shadows? Some of them look a lot like faces. Bear. You're killing me. You really are. Please, for the love of God, go to bed. I wil take personal responsibility for any and all floating faces.

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The next day, as I was driving her to dance rehearsal, we passed the movie theater.

Bear: Oh, Mom, look! "Knowing" is still playing! I really want you to go see that with me. It was the best movie ever.

She was completely baffled when I told her that there was no way AT ALL ever even if she gave me a million skillion dollars that I would take her to see that movie again.

Ahhhh...

The first crocus of spring:
Thank goodness. It's been a long winter.

Not So Much TGIF as Thank God I Survived the Week

Things That Made This Morning Suck - in crescendoing order:

1. Having the stomach flu.

2. Crappy night's sleep, in which I thought a serial killer was tapping on the window because a creepy dude selling meat out of his truck came to my door yesterday.

3. Finally waking up from said crappy night to discover that the tapping sound was actually freezing rain hitting the window. Toss-up as to whether or not this was any improvement over the serial killer.

4. Making Daddy Shortbread's coffee while having stomach flu because I was grateful he was taking the girls to school for me. He was in the shower, and I wanted to do something nice for him. However, coffee (normally my life's blood) smells like retch to me when I'm sick.

5. Cue the cat. Who retches. On the carpet, of course.

6. Clean up cat retch and try to hold my breath and avert eyes. Difficult to effectively clean this way. Succumb to dry heaves.

Bear (a.ka. World's Most Sensitive Person to All Things Vomit-Related): Moooom, can you stop doing that? You're grossing me out, and I'm trying to eat!

Me (in the manner of Bill the Cat): I'm - ack- not- oop, ACK - trying to!

7. Hear large splashing sound and "oops" from Bug, who was in the kitchen. Pull self together to investigate. Notice enormous family-size jug of juice has fallen out of the fridge and come open because Certain People (*cough* Bear *cough*) like to just slap the lid on without actually screwing it on. Lake Cranberry-Pomegranate is spreading like a tsunami across the linoleum. Consider crying. Clean it up instead.

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On the extreme upside of stomach flu, my week's diet of tea and toast seems to have had the anticipated result of Bonus Weight Loss! Suck on THAT, Dr. Atkins.

Oh Yeah, That's Why I Keep Them

I've been under the weather, gastrointestinally speaking, the last few days. This evening after my shower, I walked into my bedroom to find Bug's stuffed giraffe (Dr. David), fully dressed in his surgical scrubs, lying on my bed. Beside him was a note:

Dear Mom,
I hope you feel better.
Love,
Bug

Now come on, you've got to admit... that's seriously freaking adorable.

Attention Telemarketers

I have instructed my children to tell you that yes, their mother is home, but unfortunately she only speaks the African clicking language. If you still insist on talking to me, I will get on the phone and click at you until you hang up.

Irritating the Local Wildlife

This weekend we continued the prepping of the Formerly Glitter Popcorn Ceiling (soon to be the Yummy Smooth White Ceiling). We scraped, sponged, vacuumed, and stain-sealed in mind-numbing rotation. It was the very definition of thankless.

While I was "taking a break from working" (i.e., looking for an excuse to stand around and do nothing for awhile), I decided to photograph the action at the birdfeeder. We've had a lot more birdsong around here in the mornings, and the feeders have been hopping as spring approaches.

Chickadees have always been one of my favorite feeder visitors. They're just so darn teeny and cute. Maisy the cat also seems to have a fondness for them, but I think it's less about the cute and more about the crunchy. Lucky for them, she's an indoor cat.
I think this little dude just noticed me. He's giving me the beady eyeball.

"Nothing to see here. Nothing. To. See. Just looking at my little birdie toes. Move along, please."

"Why are you still here?"

Yep, he's onto me.

Look at him getting all ruffled and badass with his itty-bitty self."You. Woman. With the enormous black plastic thing attached to your eye. Don't you have work to do?"

Isn't he just precious when he's pissed off?Oh, look how cute! Now he's giving me the little birdie cold shoulder. Or is it cold wing? I have no idea what's PC in this situation.
"You are dead to me. But please continue to fill the cylinder with seed."

My work here is done. Back to the ceiling.